


Consider Me Hacked

by Aoluas Anminti (AoluasAnminti)



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Romance, Shameless Smut, So Much Smut Tho
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-04 15:30:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10993770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AoluasAnminti/pseuds/Aoluas%20Anminti
Summary: So this just kind of... happened. I ADORE Reyes, and there is not NEARLY enough of him in game. The little tidbits that we get are so fascinating, but there's not enough interaction, despite this being arguably the HOTTEST romance option in Andromeda. I don't understand it.Perhaps they just didn't realize what they had, with Reyes.No particular plot in mind, just wrote out the ideas as they came, expanding on the headcanon of my Kyrie Ryder and her relationship with Reyes....and a lot of smut. ;)My Spanish is nonexistent, by the way (my expertise lies more in East Asian and dead languages), so please, if the endearments don't make sense or I'm doing the wrong thing somehow, let me know. I would cherish a beta who could translate for me. My Kyrie doesn't understand any more Spanish than I do, but I have so much I want Reyes to say...





	Consider Me Hacked

**Author's Note:**

> So this just kind of... happened. I ADORE Reyes, and there is not NEARLY enough of him in game. The little tidbits that we get are so fascinating, but there's not enough interaction, despite this being arguably the HOTTEST romance option in Andromeda. I don't understand it.  
> Perhaps they just didn't realize what they had, with Reyes.
> 
> No particular plot in mind, just wrote out the ideas as they came, expanding on the headcanon of my Kyrie Ryder and her relationship with Reyes.
> 
> ...and a lot of smut. ;)
> 
> My Spanish is nonexistent, by the way (my expertise lies more in East Asian and dead languages), so please, if the endearments don't make sense or I'm doing the wrong thing somehow, let me know. I would cherish a beta who could translate for me. My Kyrie doesn't understand any more Spanish than I do, but I have so much I want Reyes to say...

**Shore Leave**

 

Kyrie Ryder’s first time was almost on a bar couch in the slums.

 

She thought about this as the Tempest docked in Kadara Port and she dodged Vetra’s knowing looks while she dithered over the transport controls.

 

 _What is wrong with me?_ she wondered.

 

She was the human Pathfinder, against all reason. She was supposed to return to render worlds habitable. Kadara was barely a place where the exiles survived, and they were some of the toughest people she had ever seen. Largely corrupt, abrasive, and often criminal in the worst ways, but—tough, definitely. For Kadara to make even them struggle—well. And she needed an outpost here. Otherwise, what was the point? She had to go to the site she had chosen and activate an outpost beacon.

 

She had a job to do. And the Tempest had _docked_ already, even if she could identify a reasonable place for Kallo to take her in that was close to the site she had picked, he would wonder why she hadn't just told him to go there first.

 

And why they were dodging the port authority. Such as it was.

 

And what that meant about her alliance with the Collective.

 

With the Charlatan.

 

“Shit,” Kyrie muttered.

 

“You know,” Cora mused, and Kyrie did _not_ jump because the huntress had _not_ snuck up on her, “someone who didn't know you might think you were afraid of the slums.”

 

Kyrie scoffed. “And then if that person who didn't know me wasn't an _idiot_ they would notice that I'm armed to the teeth and probably not likely to be afraid of a charging fiend.”

 

Cora nodded, and watched her Pathfinder continue glaring at the controls like they'd wronged her personally. “Well, at least now you look more angry than afraid. Pretty sure that's safer, here.”

 

Rolling her eyes, Kyrie moved to the railing and looked out at the precipitous drop and the alluring Kadara horizon.

 

_If only it didn't still reek of sulfur and acid._

 

Cora joined her, but leaned her back against the rail, looking with determined neutrality at the structures that made up the port town. “You're taking Vetra and Jaal with you, right?”

 

“Vetra yes,” Kyrie agreed, “Jaal no. He keeps bitching about how awful it is here, so I’ve decided that if he hates it that much he can _stay_ on the ship. I don't disagree with him but it's not like I want to hear about it for hours on end. Doesn't make dealing with this place any easier.”

 

“Uh huh. So you're…waiting for him to reboard the ship?”

 

“What? No.” Too late, Kyrie realized the easy out she'd rejected and backtracked. “He's probably—not in the bar anymore. I mean, he mentioned saying ‘hello’ to Keema, so, he's probably at port HQ.” What was it about this wretched planet that had her mouth outpacing her mind all the time? “I haven't decided who else to take. The badlands should be safer now so I shouldn't need Drack, but…”

 

“I'm free,” Cora offered. “The alliances you've made, even the suicidal wouldn't dare touch this ship now. Or the Nomad.”

 

“Thanks,” Kyrie hedged, “but—and I mean this in the _best_ way—you _reek_ of Initiative.”

 

Cora laughed. “And…you don't? _Pathfinder_?”

 

Kyrie shook her head. “Not necessarily. I reek of…” her lips curled, vaguely disgusted, “wealth, I guess. No one will mistake me for Kadaran, but they don't always _automatically_ think of the Initiative. More, ‘lucky pirate’, I guess.”

 

Cora smiled slightly. “Maybe ‘Collective middle management’, now.”

 

“Maybe.” Kyrie glanced at the controls again, began to chew her lip, scowled. She gave her shotgun and sniper rifle to Cora. “Ugh. I'm getting Drack. He can't be drunk yet, anyway.”

 

As she walked away, very much _not_ stomping in temper, Cora called at her back “How much do you wanna bet?”

 

~*~

 

“Oh, you are _shitting_ me.”

 

“’M not _drunk_ ,” the old krogan insisted. “’M…whassit. _Relaxed_.”

 

Kyrie rounded on Umi, furious, but the bartender was, as with everything, unmoved. “ _What_ did you _give_ him? I didn't think you had enough booze in the whole bar to get him drunk.”

 

“Tranquilizers.” Umi began to clean metal tumblers with a rag that looked like it would accomplish the exact opposite. “For livestock.”

 

“Hah!” Drack exploded, stumbling and almost _rolling_ along one wall to a chair, which he sat in so heavily Kyrie was surprised it didn't break. “Tha’ ‘ll do it!”

 

Kyrie stopped grinding her teeth before SAM could call her on it. “And how long will it take before these _livestock tranquilizers_ wear off?”

 

“Dunno.” Umi set the tumblers down behind the bar and met the Pathfinder’s eye. “Never used ‘em on anyone who lived.”

 

Kyrie narrowed her eyes at the bartender, then gave Drack a once-over.

 

 _Pathfinder, despite her words, Drack’s vital signs indicate that he is in no mortal danger._ SAM noted. _I would hazard a guess that she has more experience and expertise with the tranquilizers than she admits to. Whatever the ethics of drugging him to begin with, she is not risking his life._

 

“Ugh.” Kyrie considered threatening Umi—probably a truly fruitless endeavor—or promising Drack retribution once he was sober—similarly pointless—and settled for shooting the tumbler out of Drack’s hand.

 

“Hey!” from Umi, Drack, and at least four other people, along with someone reminding her “No guns in port!”

 

“Oh, _bite_ me.” She slipped the pistol back into her jacket. “Better yet, report me. I am so out of here.”

 

The patrons of Kralla’s Song gave her a wide berth as she stormed out, and so did the pedestrians when she exited and barked “Peebee get your ass to the lift!” without looking up. She slipped briefly into the Tempest equipment locker, grabbing and changing into her armor and arming herself more thoroughly (making a mental note to thank Cora for stowing her guns), ignoring her companions as they did the same. Vetra just looked at her before nodding and walking to the lift, and B’Sayle wisely kept any comments to herself when Kyrie brought her fist down on the controls with force just shy of breaking them.

 

On the way down though, a lot less subtly than she imagined, Peebee asked Vetra “What crawled up her ass?”

 

Ryder’s bitten off “Nothing!” drowned out Vetra’s sigh.

 

“Nice, Peebee.”

 

“What? What'd I do?”

 

Kyrie stalked through the doors almost before they'd opened enough, Peebee stumbling to match her pace. Vetra had it easy matching her speed, but paused next to one of the geysers. “Hey, Kay, I actually have some business I'd like to take care of if we can pause a second.”

 

Breathing through her nose carefully, Kyrie nodded. “Yeah, okay. Where? Or is this the kind of business I might want to be absent for?”

 

Vetra laughed. “Well, I can't pretend your presence would help. Contacts like this can be, uh…skittish.”

 

“Yeah.” Kyrie ran her hands through her hair, then murmured unhappily and redid her ponytail. “Not going to ask where you'll be, but where should _I_ be so I don't interfere?”

 

“Down here, there's only one place you can wait without obviously looking like you're waiting for someone, Ryder.”

 

 _You look like you're waiting for someone._ “Damnit.”

 

“Problem?”

 

“No.” Kyrie ran her hand over her hair again, almost self-consciously. “No. Right. We'll be in Tartarus. Go do whatever you do.”

 

“Thanks, Ryder.” She laid a hand briefly on Kyrie’s shoulder. “It might take a while, but I'll ping your comm the moment I'm done.”

 

Peebee watched Vetra walk into the dark warrens of the slums, then watched Ryder…stand still.

 

And stay still.

 

“…uh, Ryder?”

 

Kyrie turned and considered the pitted rock walls for a moment, the air around her hazing and beginning to glow blue before it abruptly calmed. She turned to Peebee. “Into Tartarus, right? Come on. I have to talk to… you, have a drink or whatever. _Don't_ get drunk.”

 

~*~

 

Chewing her lip outside of the VIP room, Kyrie considered that maybe Vetra was a _lying rat_ and she had been set up.

 

Vetra _couldn't_ approve of her relationship with Reyes. …right? But then, Vetra _was_ very comfortable with the underworld. Kyrie was sure that if a man like Reyes approached Sid, though, Vetra would arrange for his death without hesitation. Well, maybe not _death_. Maybe injury.

 

_If Dad were alive, he'd shoot him. Maybe on sight._

 

Kyrie shifted her weight. _Scott might shoot him. When he wakes up._

 

The memory of his hands on her armor, on her skin, carding through her loose hair, the fabric of that damn couch beneath her elbows as she propped herself up and clung—

 

_Pathfinder, your pulse has increased substantially._

 

_I probably should have shot him._

_Pathfinder, are you—_ “ _Not. Now. SAM_.”

 

Kyrie squared her shoulders. _I am Kyrie Ryder._ She took a steadying breath. _I am the human Pathfinder._ She exhaled slowly through her mouth. _I am not some young girl falling for the oldest cliché in the book._ She raised her hand to knock. _And I_ didn't _lose control enough to let my first time be on the couch of a slum bar._

 

The doors slid apart before she touched them.

 

“Kyrie,” Reyes smiled at her, his accent morphing her name into a shape she actually liked, the warmth in his tone going right through her.

 

_Two syllables. Is that all it takes?_

 

She shifted her weight and opened her mouth, before glancing behind her and stepping inside. The doors closed smoothly, the noise from the club dimming. Rather than clear her head, she felt like the silence expanded to fill the spaces vacated by the throbbing bass. She walked over to Reyes and stood facing him for an awkward moment before seating herself on the adjacent couch. She felt mute.

 

_This is where…_

 

Reyes leaned forward and her attention snapped to him. She smiled. “You have been quite the bad girl, haven't you?”

 

Kyrie’s eyes widened. _Are my fantasies leaking out of my head?_

 

With almost audible hesitation ( _Can an AI feel embarrassed?)_ SAM reassured her, _You heard him correctly, Pathfinder._

 

Swallowing, Kyrie tried for speech. “Uh… what?”

 

Reyes chuckled and leaned back, and Kyrie crossed her legs ( _oh, not helping_ ) and uncrossed them. “That little interaction in Kralla’s Song.”

 

She stared at him blankly. When he didn't elaborate, she hazarded, “Did Drack break something?”

 

Reyes raised an eyebrow at her, his smirk playing along his lips. She refused to be distracted by his mouth. _Oh, phrasing_ … “No, my dear. You did.”

 

Kyrie narrowed her eyes, thinking, then her expression cleared. “The tumbler? Umi cares about that when she puts knives through her own counter?”

 

“It was not Umi who reported it,” he noted, stretching an arm along the back of the couch, “and the cup was of rather less import than the _pistol_.”

 

“Oh.” Kyrie slumped in her seat. “Right. Wait, you already—?”

 

“You and your crew—most of them— are very notable here, and it was a breach of Kadara Port’s main—some say ‘only’—law.” Leaning forward again, he tilted his head inquiringly. “I'm even told that you _invited_ witnesses to report you.”

 

“I was being _sarcastic_.”

 

“And you admit to it all.”

 

“As opposed to…? The whole bar saw me.”

 

Reyes’ smile was almost patronizing, but it smoothed into honest amusement as he shook his head. “I think most would try to avoid punishment.”

 

“You're going to punish me?” The look he gave her was _molten_ , and she swallowed, breathing faster, sitting up straighter. “I…that's not what I meant.”

 

“Mm. Another time, perhaps.” Kyrie shifted, pressing her thighs together. “Imprisoning the Pathfinder before an outpost is placed—no, we cannot do that. But neither can I allow you to casually break one of our few rules here.”

 

“Right.” She looked down into her lap, then back up as Reyes slipped next to her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

 

Letting the tips of his fingers play along her jaw, Reyes purred, “What recompense do you suggest?”

 

Kyrie felt pinned, her mouth dry—and open. She struggled to concentrate on his question. “A…fine?”

 

“Not enough,” he declared, “and likely to encourage other to believe that they can buy their way out of the rules.” His touch trailed down her neck, and she shivered.

 

“I…ah.” She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, leaning into his touch. “It's not like I hurt anyone. Search me, Reyes, I don’t know. What do _you_ suggest?”

 

He hummed, the sound and heat coming from just next to her ear, and she swayed toward him. “Yes, I think that will work.”

 

“What?” Kyrie opened her eyes to find him so close, half over her, almost caging her with his arms. “What…will work?”

 

“The next time you enter the port,” he explained, deftly undoing her chestpiece and shoulders, “you will be searched.” He let her armor clatter to the floor and pulled off her gloves. The moment they were off she had a hand in his hair and another on his neck, urging him into a kiss. “But I am a jealous man,” he breathed against her lips, “so you must let me know when you will be back in the port, and _I_ will search you, as an agent of the Collective.” She let him turn and press her down against the seat, and settled her legs on either side of his hips as he knelt over her. “Yes?”

 

“Oh, gods yes.” She arched under his gaze, fully aware that the undersuit she wore beneath her armor was about as good as a bikini at hiding anything. “Yes, Reyes.”

 

“ _Good_ ,” he growled, unzipping her undersuit and drawing it down her shoulders, and Kyrie was fairly sure even SAM couldn't have told whether they were still talking about her punishment. 

 

Reyes kissed and nipped and laved at the bare skin of her neck, his fingers ghosting along her collarbone, and Kyrie whispered encouragement and breathless pleasure to him, trying to urge him more fully against her with her legs, kissing whatever of him she could reach. His hand slipped low on her hip, a finger’s breadth from the seals of the armor on her thighs, and she whined and pressed up, feeling his arousal against the unarmored flesh between her groin and thigh.

 

Reyes groaned into her skin and murmured what she thought might be a prayer or plea—her translator wasn't set to parse human languages—and pulled away over her protests.

 

“My beauty,” he said softly, taking one of her hands and pressing a kiss to her knuckles, “if we continue, I will break another promise to you, and I will not do that.”

 

Kyrie grumbled. “Reyes, I already asked you not to be a gentleman _ages_ ago.”

 

Reyes smirked. “Only two weeks.”

 

“Whatever. Still stands.”

 

He shrugged, the movement striking her as oddly graceful. “Nonetheless. There is a difference between _not_ being a gentleman and _being_ a lout. You deserve better than a club couch and turian techno.” He stroked her cheek with the edge of his hand. “I would give you worlds,” he breathed.

 

Kyrie felt mesmerized. She believed him. She believed, if she asked… “Haven't you? King of Kadara.”

 

“Pathfinder,” he returned. “I helped you solidify your hold here, yes, but the better part of what makes Kadara worth holding on to—for those not already here—that was you, querida.” He lifted himself from the couch and handed her her chestplate, almost sheepish.

 

She took it in both hands and sat up, looked at it for a moment, and then at Reyes.

 

A lot of people were the type to “dive right in”. What few outside of the Ryder family knew about Kyrie was that her commitment to a path, once chosen, was such that she literally dove in. When she was little, that had sometimes meant pools that turned out to be too shallow and broken bones. Now, the phrase tended to be true mostly of gravity wells. She could debate endlessly about a decision, and lately it felt like she spoke before she thought _much_ more often than was typical of her but still, when she decided on a course, she saw it through. Go to Andromeda? No regrets. Made Pathfinder? Figure it out.

 

Reyes?

 

She looked at him carefully, thinking. He seemed uncomfortable under her gaze at first, and she nearly felt bad—she had been told more than once that her frank way of assessing people was rude—but then he stood straight and relaxed, watching her back.

 

 _Yes_.

 

Kyrie nodded just barely to herself and met his eyes. She would dive, and trust that the waters here were deep enough. “I don’t want to stop, Reyes.” She stood, securing her armor just enough that it wouldn’t fall off her, and laid a hand gently on his chest, over a heart she could feel racing almost as much as hers, through his light armor. “So, where can we go?”

 

Reyes exhaled shakily and nodded. “Follow me.”

 

He went to a back wall and pressed—something. Kyrie didn't quite see what triggered it, but a panel opened with a quiet pneumatic hiss to a dark, abandoned alleyway. Reyes slipped through and she followed.

 

There were no lights this way, and Kyrie was almost sure it didn't open out into any of the usual routes through the slums. The only illumination came from the ceiling, from whatever light was reflected off the rock and down into, from what she could tell, the narrow spaces between cargo crates and whatever other scrap had been used to construct shelter down beneath the port. They went up a ladder and carefully along a ledge and Reyes ducked into a patch of blackness that didn't look distinct from any other until Kyrie realized it was a shuttle. She followed and was ready to settle there—the thing had been mostly stripped and outfitted as a kind of room—but Reyes slipped into the pilot seat and motioned that she take the one next to him.

 

Kyrie couldn’t have said exactly how much clearance the shuttle had from the cave ceiling, but she didn’t think it could be much. _Mr. Vidal has less than two meters’ clearance in which to maneuver the shuttle_ , SAM offered.

 

 _Helpful but not encouraging, SAM._ “Is this your own shuttle, Reyes?” Kyrie asked, glancing around to see what it might reveal about the secretive man beside her. _Pathfinder, while I can track your location from what you see, the shuttle has been scrubbed and includes jamming technology. I can tell you nothing about where it has been or what it has been used for._

 

“Ah,” Reyes hedged, operating the controls with easy familiarity and delicate skill, “it is a shuttle I own.”

 

He flew them out over the slums and the now-abandoned warden’s station. They flew over cliffs to an area of relatively flat ground that would have been impossible to access even with the Nomad. This place was probably on her planetary scans, but not the maps she looked at when actually navigating Kadara’s badlands. The wind whistled between two even higher cliffs nearby, and she spied a row of wind turbines turning in the shadowed space. A large structure that she recognized as a water pump and purifier was roughly in the center of the small clearing, and towards the edge there was…a shack?

 

Reyes landed the shuttle near the small building—Kyrie tried not to call it a shack again in her mind—and stepped out. He walked over to the door while Kyrie considered its shape. Under other circumstances she might have thought it an outhouse, but a meter or so beyond the door, the roof sloped down, and kept sloping until it met and sank into the ground. _An entryway, maybe?_ Reyes was busy with the door and his omnitool for a couple of minutes, then waved her over.

 

“Put your hand here,” he indicated the doorknob, an archaic thing that made her smile, “and look here,” he pointed to a spot on the center of the door just an inch or so above her eye level, not visually distinct from any other part of the door, “and hold for one, two, three…” there was a click and a hiss but otherwise nothing happened. “Good.”

 

Kyrie raised her eyebrows. “What's good? What did I just do?”

 

Reyes rested his hands on her hips and kissed her neck, smiling when she leaned into the contact. “The lock will now recognize you, and you can enter whenever you like.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Still smiling, he turned the knob and the door opened inward, the space almost immediately canting downward into a wide, curving stairwell. A flight and a half of that and they stood before another door. Kyrie began to raise her omnitool to open it, and it slid apart on its own.

 

“My home,” Reyes said, taking her hand and leading her in as though preparing to dance with her again.

 

Kyrie’s wide eyes took in the kitchen, the rooms—rooms, plural!—apparently left empty for some future purpose, the living room with windows shaped to match the sheer cliff face outside (camouflaged, no doubt), the dark but astonishingly elaborate comm room, the bedroom with the luxurious looking black bed, and a bathroom, with an actual _bath_ , that made her gasp with pleasure and a little jealousy. “Not even the Tempest has an actual _bath_ ,” she breathed. Reyes’ warm chuckle followed her as she went to investigate it further.

 

The place was great, even by Nexus standards—and for Kadara? It was practically _palatial._ “You approve?” Reyes asked, leaning against a wall, watching her with a smile.

 

“Approve! Reyes, this is—well, I'm not going to ask how you did this, that seems kind of obvious, and I don't want you to think I'm condoning your methods, but…” her gaze roved over the space again, luxuries she hadn't even imagined as such before leaving the Milky Way, and some that she had thought of as luxury, and she sighed happily. “This place is _amazing_.” Then her brain finally caught up to her ears. “Wait. Your home?” _Did he just…give me a key to his place?_

_Functionally yes, Pathfinder._

Reyes nodded. “My home.” He gathered her into his arms and stroked his thumbs over her jaw. “A wise man told me once that nothing anyone says before ‘but’ really matters. So, all I need to know is that you're pleased.”

 

Kyrie had words about that “but” thing—for later. Far more interesting was the kiss Reyes pressed to her mouth, his hands framing her face. He was gentle, and slow, and _thorough_. Kyrie shivered and pressed closer, almost immediately stilling as her armor got in the way. She considered pausing to take it off—the work of seconds—but Reyes moved to a new angle, scraping his teeth over her lower lip, wholly recapturing her attention. Every time she went to push forward, to rush, to press ahead, he moved back just enough, leading her, keeping his slow, sensuous pace.

 

When she thought back, that was _probably_ how they'd moved from the bath to the bedroom, but thinking back over it she could only remember the warmth and pressure of his lips on hers, his hands on her neck and waist, the scrape of calloused fingers over the shell of her ear, the taste of his breath.

 

How they got to the bedroom didn't really matter.

 

They were on the bed, still kissing, his hands playing around the clasps of her armor, her ungloved hands buried in and thoroughly mussing his thick hair, when her omnitool pinged. Reyes began to shift away, but she held him close, determined to ignore it.

 

It pinged again, and Reyes did pull back this time, huffing a laugh against her mouth when she let out a completely undignified whine.

 

Then it pinged and flashed.

 

Kyrie swallowed her irritation—most of it—and answered the call. “ _What_.”

 

“Wow, attitude,” Peebee’s voice sounded, too faint to be the one calling.

 

“We’re at Tartarus,” Vetra noted calmly, for all appearances ignoring Kyrie’s tone and Peebee altogether. “Wondering where you are. We still heading out to place that beacon for the outpost?”

 

 _Shit_. “Right. Ah…I'm…”

 

“ _Busy_?” Peebee finished, her voice heavy with innuendo.

 

“Not at the port,” Kyrie snapped.

 

“Ew,” Peebee opined. “Where else is even clean enough—“

 

“You want us to wait for you here?” Vetra asked.

 

“No. I'll…” Reyes chose that moment to tease her chest armor open and off, and press a kiss to her neck. “Mm—mark! I'll mark the spot on my way back in.”

 

“Got it. We'll leave you to it.” Spirits bless Vetra, for not making it weird. “Have fun, Kay.” Or not.

 

“I'll ping you on my way back.” She closed the call and silenced her omnitool before addressing SAM silently. _Just confirming; I have to place that beacon myself, right?_

 

_Yes, Pathfinder. It requires your direct authorization._

 

Coming back to herself, she smiled apologetically at Reyes. “Sorry about that,” before she thought to continue, his lips were on hers again, his hands sliding over her shoulders and down her arms, taking her armor with them.

 

Reyes leaned back and brought her with him, until Kyrie came up short and slid the armor off her lower half. She didn't know what it was like to be pressed against it, but imagined that the ceramic and molded metal wasn't exactly pleasant. His armor, on the other hand, barely qualified as armor. The material felt ballistic to her, good perhaps for protection against a few shots, but not a sustained firefight, blunt force, or the slower penetrative action of a knife or teeth. While she got the last of her armor off, he shrugged out of his jacket and shirt, and when she turned back his chest was wonderfully bare and—

 

“You're posing.”

 

Reyes grinned at her. “Do you like what—“

 

“Oh my god. You _enjoy_ cheesy.”

 

He laughed. “Yes. But clichés are cliché for a reason.”

 

“You're incorrigible.”

 

“Ah, you love it.”

 

“We've already been over my taste in men.”

 

“I think it's working out rather well.”

 

“You're a _crime lord_. I'm insane. If my father were alive he'd've shot you already.”

 

“You like a bad boy, and here I am, best of the best.”

 

“Seriously? Stop talking.”

 

“Make me.”

 

Rather than call him on that—cliché _and_ juvenile—she straddled his hips and kissed him. The grin gradually melted from his mouth as her hands found their way into his hair again, and he laid back, drawing her down and teasing his finger along the zipper of her undersuit. The thing really was skintight, and she was eager to be out of it. Reyes, though, seemed determined to take his time, easing the zipper open with agonizing slowness, tracing his fingertips over her barely naked spine, humming in satisfaction when she shivered and gasped at the light touches.

 

Still—either he was going faster than she thought or her estimates of time really were off—soon enough the zipper was fully open, and she sat back against the encouraging swell in his pants and peeled the undersuit away from her chest and down her arms, smiling with no small amount of satisfaction when his gaze hungrily absorbed each span of skin bared.

 

Kyrie couldn't resist. “Do you like what _you_ see?”

 

Reyes rolled her beneath him in a surprisingly smooth move, and tugged her hair free of her ponytail, drawing his fingers through it as it framed her face. “You are a goddess, mi corazón. And I am beginning to think I am a bad influence on you.”

 

Kyrie arched under him, enjoying the press of skin to skin, and caught his earlobe in her teeth briefly. “The worst,” she agreed.

 

Reyes groaned and inhaled deeply at her neck, allowing himself to press her into the mattress briefly. “You are completely determined to break my restraint, aren't you?”

 

“Reyes, I've been trying to break your restraint since I kissed you in that storage room.”

 

“Ah, it was _not_ for distraction.”

 

“You _cannot_ just be figuring this out now.”

 

“I can be a slow learner.”

 

“I don't believe that for a second.” She hooked a leg over his hip to bring his mind back to the topic at hand, as it were. “You probably had me figured out the minute you saw me.”

 

“Mm, I made assumptions, yes.” He slipped his fingers between her undersuit and skin, sliding the material down. “I have never been happier to be completely wrong.”

 

Kyrie raised an eyebrow and made a mental note to ask him just what assumptions he had made—later. Now, now he was drawing her undersuit finally, fully off, flinging it into some corner of the room, drinking her in. The intensity of his focus made gooseflesh raise on her arms. He curled his fingers over one ankle, meeting and keeping her gaze as he kissed her instep. “Tan hermosa,” he said. His low tone, sincerity, and the rush of breath over her foot made her shiver.

 

She worked past a sudden dryness in her throat and tugged at his waistband. “You have me at a disadvantage,”

 

“Not half so much as you might think.” His hand slid up her leg, lifting it even as he bent down, kissing her inner thigh. “I am utterly at your mercy,” he rested her legs on his shoulders and ran a finger over her wet slit, “and your disposal.” He spread the lips of her sex and swept his tongue over her.

 

Kyrie felt like she had just touched a live wire. She bowed up off the bed, supported only by her shoulders and Reyes’. “Oh, god, Reyes—“ then words were completely beyond her. She had never felt _anything_ even comparable. Reality itself narrowed and focused down to her lover, and his fingers and tongue. Every movement sent pleasure—pure, uncompromising, bone deep pleasure—racing through her body, leaving muscles paradoxically tense and weak, making her aware of her body as she couldn't remember ever being. Her senses expanded and constricted, she could feel the roots of individual hairs, and it felt good. Her breasts _ached_ for his touch, not at all metaphorically, even the air in the room against her nipples felt like a revelation.  Reyes’ hair through her fingers was a new feeling, the cover underneath her body bunched and shifted, and that was good, too.

 

But most of all, Reyes. Reyes, Reyes. Each single lap from his tongue felt more exquisite than any single orgasm she had brought herself to. She didn't know what sounds she was making and didn't care, so long as he didn't stop, never stopped. She tried to tell him, wanted to, but language wasn't even a concept for her—just him, and his mouth, and the overwhelming peak rushing towards her faster than she had imagined. The strength of it scared her, but not chasing it was impossible. It was going to kill her, she thought, rip through her like a biotic lance and leave no more than molecule-fine dust. Every movement from Reyes felt better than anything ever had, and this was more, more, she could feel it, too much.

 

But it would be a good death.

 

He slipped a finger into her— _I've never been this wet in my life, oh god oh god Reyes_ —and then a second, and she threw her legs wide. He set a rhythm, pumping them in and out of her as he continued to lavish attention on her clit. He curled his fingers up at the same time he switched from firm, broad stroked to flicks of his tongue over her hypersensitive nub, and she _wailed_. Moments more of that, and the dam would break, she knew it.

 

Reyes pulled away and Kyrie shook her head, frantic. “Nn—pl—please, please, please, can't, pleasepleaseplease—“

 

“Look at me,” Reyes growled. His voice was deeper and so rough, she almost didn’t understand him, but she struggled to open her eyes and looked at him.

 

His hair was in complete disarray, his bronze skin alight in the setting Kadara sun, his golden eyes dark, light rings around huge, bottomless black, focused on her. His mouth and chin were slick. The sight of him did something to her, just seeing him so aroused pushed her closer to the edge, so close— “Reyes,” she pleaded, not recognizing the desperate rasp her voice had become. “Reyes, Reyes—“

 

“Keep your eyes on me. I want to watch you come. Look away and I stop.” He lowered himself again, his breath fanning over her sex. “Understand?”

 

“Yes, yesyesyes, don't stop, please, yes, Reyes—“

 

Reyes hummed his satisfaction with her response, his lips just barely against her clit, and she sobbed at the feeling, but focused all her energy on watching him, keeping his gaze. He couldn't stop. She _needed_ —

 

He pushed a third finger into her and flexed them, stretching her, making her whimper as her eyes fell half lidded, but she didn't close them, wouldn't. He curled his fingers and began flicking his tongue against her again, his hand moving in and out of her and rubbing against _something_ inside her that made her see black sparks and supernovas— but she kept her eyes open. Her legs were shaking and her neck ached from resisting the need to throw her head back, but she kept her eyes on him. Then, her vision shattered.

 

She clenched hard around his fingers, her hips jerking involuntarily, shoving herself down on his hand. Reyes cursed roughly and _sucked_ on her clit, too sensitive, too much, and it felt like she broke _again_ even while the first hadn't ended. She could feel everything, her nerves were singing, shrieking, singing from her toes to her head and nothing existed but sensation, and she couldn't, couldn't

 

Everything went dark.

 

Kyrie came to feeling limp and sublime, Reyes holding himself over her, placing kiss after gentle kiss along her brow, speaking in a murmur of mixed English and Spanish that she didn’t even try to understand. His lips were moist but not wet, and she dimly decided he must have wiped his face. “Mm,” her throat hurt like she'd been screaming, “Reyes.”

 

“Ah,” Reyes sighed, “you've come back to me.”

 

“Mm,” Kyrie agreed. “You killed me.”

 

His laugh was a low rumble that she felt more than heard, his chest pressed flush to hers. “I did worry, mi corazón.”

 

“I'm perfect.” She raised her legs to cradle his hips, feeling the heavy length of him at her entrance. “You're better.”

 

“You're magnificent,” he groaned, pressing forward. “Are you sure…?”

 

“Don’t stop,” she lifted nearly boneless arms to curl around his neck and back, arching up to him, enjoying the press of his chest against her still aching breasts. “Please, Reyes.”

 

He dropped his forehead to hers. “I'm yours, Kyrie.”

 

“And I'm yours. Please,”

 

He pressed his face into her neck, one arm next to her head, supporting his weight. He guided himself in and kissed her hard as he entered her, a strangled groan pulling from him which she traded for soft, breathy whimpers at the wondrous, unfamiliar stretch. He kept _pressing_ until finally their hips were flush against each other. He panted roughly into her mouth before raising his head slightly to look at her, a question wrinkling his brow.

 

“Are you…?”

 

 _Not a virgin anymore_ , she thought. “I'm good,” she breathed, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to his throat, squeezing him experimentally and relishing the feeling of his groan. “Better than. Best,”

 

He pulled out slowly, almost entirely, and thrust in, deep. Kyrie gasped and pressed her face into his shoulder. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he did it again, gasping and clenching involuntarily as the new position let him fill her completely. A wordless, strained sound escaped Reyes, and he cradled her head, pressing her face to him, and settled into a steady pace. Kyrie couldn't speak, only gasp and breathe in soft, needy sobs with each thrust. When she began to meet his thrust, he growled and began to push faster, bearing her down into the mattress, his grunts and low sounds a counterpoint to her gasps.

 

This feeling was different, different from his mouth on her. Deeper, fuller. The impression of a tsunami rose in her mind, invisible under the water, but huge, inexorable, devastating when it hit. Her hands scrabbled at his back for purchase, pulling him closer, desperate draws of air, her lips shaping around words she didn't have breath for. She felt his lips moving against her hair as if he was doing the same, and then he pulled back, looking at her like she was all that existed in his world before bending back down, his mouth next to her ear.

 

“Kyrie,” he bit out before throwing his head back, jaw clenched and tendons standing out in his neck. His rhythm faltered and he began pistoning into her, and she shifted from matching his thrusts to hanging on. He drove the breath out of her, he amazed her, the strength of his passion, that even this, when he lost control, felt so impossibly good. She felt a primal pride swelling in her too, knowing that this, _this_ was Reyes Vidal without restraint. Because of _her_.

 

The building wave broke over her, whiting out her world, and she clutched at his skin, digging in, spasming and curling around him as her one anchor in space, her relative direction. She made sounds she'd never heard from herself before, strangled moans and keening wails, and babbled, and didn't know what she said. Reyes gave her his choked moans in return, and growled something Spanish or perhaps unintelligible into her ear, and gripped her hips, slamming himself home once, twice, and then pressing himself deep as he jerked and emptied into her.

 

Reyes held himself there until they had both stopped shaking, then pulled out slowly, murmuring endearments against her skin. Keeping her pressed flush to his chest, he rolled them to the side and kissed her sweat-slick brow. She cuddled against him, moving an arm that felt weighted down by dreadnoughts to drape over his waist. Sleep was pulling at her and she knew she couldn't resist it for long.

 

Kyrie dragged her eyes open and nudged Reyes’ jaw with her nose. When he looked at her, she smiled and pressed a quick, chaste kiss to his lips. “I take it back,” she said, voice tired and thin, seeing concern flash over his similarly exhausted features. “I have _exceptional_ taste in men.” Relief filled him and he huffed a laugh into her hair.

 

As she finally succumbed to sleep, she heard him say “Te adoro, Kyrie.”

 

~*~

 

Kyrie woke up properly in the bed—head on the pillows, body between the sheets, covered by the covers, so deep a blue they might as well be black. Looking at the mussed bedclothes, she realized that they hadn't really even made it fully on to the bed, before, not that either of them had noticed. The thought made her smile. The warm solidity of the body behind her and the heavy, masculine arm settled between her beasts made her smile more.

 

She leaned back and his arm tightened reflexively, pulling her snug against him. Reyes slurred something and settled back into sleep.

 

 _SAM_?

 

_Yes, Pathfinder?_

_How long was I…out_?

 

_About three hours, Pathfinder. Night has fallen outside. Considering the increased aggression of Kadara wildlife at night and the challenges Mr. Vidal would face attempting to land the shuttle in the slums in total darkness, I recommend that you spend the night where you are._

 

Reyes shifted in his sleep, pressing himself, half hard, against her buttocks. _I think that's excellent advice, SAM_.

 

_Pathfinder, may I ask a question?_

 

Kyrie was a little wary but too relaxed and content to refuse him outright. _Go ahead. Might be I choose not to answer, though._

 

 _Of course_. SAM paused, for all the world seeming to gather his thoughts or be choosing his words carefully. _You seem to be very well, right now, Pathfinder_.

 

Kyrie lifted an eyebrow, realized SAM couldn't see it, then realized SAM could probably feel it and that the gesture wasn't lost. It was strange living with an AI in your head. _That's not a question, SAM_.

 

Another pause, then, _Arguably, this is the best single thing you have done for your mental and physical wellbeing since we were connected. Why, then, did you seem to want to avoid it?_

 

Both her eyebrows were up now. _What “it” was I avoiding?_

 

 _Having sex with Mr. Vidal_.

 

 _Oh._ She began running her fingers through the ends of her hair, beginning to untangle it. _That's…not exactly what I was avoiding. I'm—I was a virgin. And Reyes is…complicated. You have access to information on human female biology. I wasn't sure that it would go well. And I wasn't sure of…him._

 

_But you chose him as your partner, Pathfinder. Why do so if you were not sure?_

 

She nearly laughed. _“The heart wants what it wants, or else it does not care_ ”, she quoted. _It wasn't a conscious choice, SAM_.

 

SAM was silent for a long time, and Kyrie had nearly drifted back to sleep when he asked, _And what of your virginity? You mentioned it as something significant but you do not believe in any of the religions that would shame you for premarital sex._

 

Kyrie sighed. _SAM, I don't need to believe I'll be punished to want something to be a_ good _memorable first. I wanted to treat it as something significant, and it alarmed me that I kept seeming to lose control of myself around him. With my age, there are questions enough about my competence and maturity without me making as classically juvenile a move as letting my hormones get the better of me. And again, because of my inexperience, something could go wrong. Could still, really_. Pain lanced through her, a physical thing, as the ideas took shape in her head. _Reyes could wake up and decide he’s done now, having gotten what he wanted,_ _or_ —

 

 _That will not happen, Pathfinder,_ SAM interrupted, his tone gently insistent and comforting. _Mr. Vidal’s feelings for you are entirely genuine._

 

Kyrie blinked rapidly, dispelling the pain and anxiety almost as quickly as it came. _How do you know_?

 

_His biometrics and what he said to you in Spanish over the course of the evening. I can translate—_

 

Sucking her bottom lip between her teeth, Kyrie closed her eyes. _No, SAM_. _Either he'll tell me or I'll learn Spanish. It's enough to know…_ she faltered, not sure how to phrase it. _It's enough to know_.

 

 _A final question, Pathfinder_.

 

 _Shoot_.

 

 _A choice of words you may find amusing momentarily. Why do you believe your father would have killed him, and that Scott may yet_?

 

  _Aha! I didn't say “kill”. I said “shoot”_.

 

 _Technically, Pathfinder, you did not_ say _anything._

_Snarky._ Kyrie ran her fingers along the hair on Reyes’ arm, smiling as he squeezed her gently and nuzzled the crown of her head. _Nothing to do with protecting my virginity or my virtue or anything archaic like that. Reyes is dangerous. He presents himself as a criminal and a smuggler and a con artist—a murderer and a thief—and he actually_ is _all of those things—so they'd probably shoot him just because he's not safe to be around_.

 

 _You feel safe now, Pathfinder_.

 

Kyrie flushed. _Yes, well—Reyes is making me something of an exception_.

 

 _Understood. And thank you. I will leave you to your rest_.

 

It really was a very old trick, and she was inconceivably lucky that Reyes was not trying to use her. Or at least, no more than he had freely admitted. The bad boy with the heart of gold? Dangerous and deceitful to everyone—except her? The only thing saving the whole situation from being an awful cliché was that he really did mean it. The way he had talked about keeping Kadara—“ours”. Not just showing her his private, heavily secured hideaway, but unhesitatingly giving her unrestricted access—immediately, before she had even thought to ask, which she wouldn't have.

 

She had believed him when he said he wanted no more secrets between them; more accurately, she had believed that he wanted to want to be that open and honest with her. That he was following through with all of it stunned her.

 

 _SAM_? _One last thing_.

 

 _Yes, Pathfinder_?

 

Kyrie took a deep breath, laying her arm on top of Reyes’, pressing his palm over her heart. _Give Reyes clearance to board the Tempest, enter my captain’s quarters, and entry to my apartment on the Hyperion_.

 

 _Of course. It is done_.

 

 _Thanks, SAM_.

 

She wriggled, settling herself comfortably with Reyes at her back, pressing her arm over his, keeping it snugly between her breasts, and let herself go back to sleep.


End file.
